


Sundering Shadows

by dragonwriter24cmf



Category: NCIS
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, Temporary Amnesia, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:40:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22533391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonwriter24cmf/pseuds/dragonwriter24cmf
Summary: She had to bring him back to himself, even if he didn't want to come. He couldn't ignore the her call, even if he tried. Ziva broke the amnesia and brought Gibbs back to himself, but there was more to it than that. For both of them.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 10





	Sundering Shadows

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All characters belong to the creators of NCIS

**Sundering Shadows**

Ziva stood, watching Gibbs sleep. He looked so vulnerable, lying there in the hospital gown, the healing burns and cuts on his face and arms.

She wanted to leave him at peace. She had heard from Jenny that he'd said he didn't want to remember. And, despite the pain it caused all of them, it would free him. She'd seen, in their very first meeting, the weight he bore. The year she'd worked with him had only served to reinforce her impression of a strong man, bearing the weight of the world on his shoulders until he crumbled under the strain. And after what Ari had done to him, though they never spoke of it, she knew he had been pushed close to the edge. It was terrible, watching him relive the trauma of his wife's death and his grief, but she hoped he could recover easier the second time around. And of course, it would be far easier if he did not have to bear the burden of leading the NCIS team.

She wanted to leave him alone, but she couldn't. It wasn't just that he held important information regarding the terrorist plot unfolding aboard the _**Foster**_. They needed him. She knew, as she had known that night in his basement, that the world needed him. Needed his strength, his integrity, his determination. Needed his love, that would let him put himself in danger, simply to receive justice for his murdered team member. Needed his compassion, that forgave and accepted her, even knowing she had helped her brother psychologically torture him. Knowing that she had dug into the deepest, darkest secrets of his past, and exposed the wounds Ari had exploited in an attempt to drive him mad.

She took a deep breath, knowing that analyzing the situation wasn't going to make it easier. This was going to be painful for both of them, whether it worked or not. But hesitating over it did neither of them any good, and time was running out.

She moved forward, then reached hesitantly for his arm. She was a breath away, close enough to feel the soft hairs on it when he jerked awake, soundlessly, his arm twisting to catch hers. She had expected it and didn't try to pull away. She knew his muscle memory was still good, however battered his mind was, and even with 15 years gone, he was a marine.

They stared at each other. She kept herself still, offering no signs of threat. He released her hesitantly and pushed himself up on the bed. “I know you?”

She nodded, trying to stay calm. “Yes.” She touched her chest lightly. “I am Ziva David.”

He blinked, and visibly came up blank. “We work together?”

She nodded again. “Yes. I am the Mossad officer attached as liaison to your team.”

He blinked again, disbelief in his eyes. “Mossad?” He made a soft, exasperated noise. “When did they start...?”

She cut him off. “It's been a year.”

He jerked his head around to stare at her a moment, annoyance mixed with the puzzlement in his gaze. After a moment, he pushed himself into a sitting position. “Don't feel bad, but...I told that M.E. guy...

“Ducky. I know. You have worked with him for ten years, and you do not remember him.” She finished his sentence again, knowing it would exasperate him. She needed him annoyed. It was the mental track she could best exploit. And it might hurt less for both of them.

He glared at her. “You always finish peoples sentences?”

“Only when I am in a hurry.” She paused. “The Abu Sayev. They are planning an attack on board the _**USS**_ _ **Foster.**_ If it succeeds it could be as bad as...”

“As 9-11.” It was his turn to cut her off. He sat forward, rubbing his face. “I know.”

It was her turn to be surprised. “You remember 9-11?”

He shook his head, pain and stress and anger all dancing in his eyes, his hands moving restlessly with the beginnings of agitation. “No. I don't. My boss told me.”

She frowned. “Director Shepard?”

“No. I mean _my_ boss.” With a rough, restless movement, he ripped the covers off and stood, pacing a few steps away from her. Then he spun back to her, anger and frustration in his blue eyes. “What the hell can I do?”

She took his face in both hands. “You must remember.”

He jerked away from her, now truly angry. “I have been _trying_ to remember! Ever since I woke up in this room!”

“Try harder! You must.” She didn't back down, didn't give him time to regain his equilibrium.

He jerked up short, only six or eight inches away. It was clear that if she'd been a man, he'd have grabbed her. He looked as though he were tempted to shake her anyway. Then he seemed to withdraw his temper, confining it to an icy glare and a clenched jaw, staring at her as if he expected the answers to appear written on her face.

She almost smiled, would have if the moment hadn't been so dire. Instead, she tried to encourage him. “There. That is a start.”

He twitched back a fraction. “What?”

Desperation hit her. “That stare! That old Gibbs stare!” she realized with a start that it had been muscle memory, not true memory. “You gave it to all of us! Me, Tony, McGee...even Abby!”

“I...don't know...what you're talking about!” He wasn't raising his voice much, but the intensity was like a shout.

“You must!” She could see it in his eyes, how close he was. He looked more like the Gibbs she knew than he had for the past four days. It drove her crazy, knowing how close they were to the breakthrough.

The thought about muscle memory returned to her. There was one gesture...

She reached over and grabbed his hand, ignoring the way he stiffened. Before he could pull away, she brought it around to tap lightly against the back of her head in an admonishing slap.

His eyes widened, his head tilting just slightly in the way that she recognized as his thinking pose. Recognition flared, faltered, combating the shadows in his eyes.

It was enough. She could see the half-formed connections in his eyes, the haze just beyond recall. He recognized the gesture, and she could see in his questioning gaze that he was connecting it to her. Recognizing her. It was time. Time to play the card she held that no other did. It would either pull him back, or push him forever beyond their reach.

She took his arms, locking his gaze with hers. “Ari. Gibbs. Ari. Ari killed Kate.”

Another flash of memory. She saw his eyes widen again, this time in both recognition and pain.

“And I...” She felt her voice break and knew she should have stopped it, but her own pain was far too strong. In the past year, she had forced herself never to look at the moment she had saved his life, the terrible truth there. Had forced herself not to think about it. She felt tears building in her eyes, her throat locking around the words she didn't want to speak. But she had to. “I...I killed Ari.”

The last of her control broke on a sob, and she stood before him, weeping, unable to care any longer for anything more than the devastating grief that tore through her.

*****SS*****

He'd been startled to find a young woman in his room, even more so when she'd introduced herself. Ziva David. Mossad enforcement officer and liaison.

It felt like it should have been familiar, like all his other visitors had felt. Franks was the only one he knew though. She spoke of their association, and he felt a vague stirring in his mind, but he couldn't bring it forward. It drove him crazy, that feeling that the answer was just out of reach. It was that anxiety, so familiar over the past few days, that drove him out of bed.

He couldn't give her the information or the reassurance she wanted. He didn't have it. He knew he should have, but he didn't. It angered him. Another person coming here, expecting him to understand, to remember things his mind simply refused to pick up. Angered him how they all expected so much from him, as if they were unable or unwilling to accept the damage he'd suffered, and the truth. He didn't know, and he wasn't sure he wanted to. Especially after what Franks had told him.

He wanted to throw her out, but he knew instinctively that he couldn't. She'd come right back in, or stand at his door and yell at him through it. She might even break the window. He settled for glaring at her.

“There. That is a start.” She gestured to his face.

“What?” he didn't understand.

“That stare! The old Gibbs stare! You gave it to all of us!” She looked as confused and exasperated as he did.

“I don't know what you're talking about!” How could a stare be so important to her? It was just an expression.

Her jaw set. “You must.” She studied him a moment. Then, without warning, she grabbed his wrist, pulling his arm upward and forward. He didn't even have time to react before she brought it around and tapped it against the back of her own head.

Images flashed in his mind.

 _A_ _brightly_ _lit_ _room,_ _rows_ _of_ _desks._ _His_ _desk._ _Three_ _younger_ _individuals._ _One_ _of_ _them_ _her,_ _the_ _other_ _two_ _boys,_ _one_ _with_ _short_ _dark_ _hair_ _and_ _a_ _devil-may-care_ _expression,_ _the_ _other_ _with_ _light_ _colored_ _hair_ _and_ _a_ _worried_ _look._ _He_ _came_ _up_ _behind_ _the_ _girl,_ _whacked_ _her_ _lightly_ _on_ _the_ _back_ _of_ _the_ _head_ _to_ _get_ _her_ _to_ _focus._ _It_ _was_ _half_ _joke,_ _half_ _genuine_ _admonishment,_ _and_ _he_ _could_ _see_ _in_ _her_ _smile_ _and_ _her_ _change_ _in_ _attitude_ _that_ _she_ _understood_ _both._

He blinked, tilting his head to stare at her in the dim light of the hospital room. He didn't remember, but he did. There was something...something important...

She held his gaze, her own intense. After a moment, she gripped both his arms and murmured. “Ari. Gibbs. Ari.”

The name evoked a twisting feeling in his gut, but he didn't know why, only that he didn't like it.

She kept her gaze locked with his. “Ari killed Kate.”

 _He_ _was_ _standing_ _on_ _a_ _rooftop._ _The_ _dark_ _haired_ _young_ _man_ _was_ _with_ _him._ _Tony._ _So_ _was_ _a_ _young_ _woman._ _Not_ _Ziva,_ _but_ _another,_ _with_ _brown_ _hair_ _and_ _laughing_ _brown_ _eyes._ _Then,_ _with_ _no_ _warning,_ _a_ _crimson_ _spot_ _appeared_ _on_ _her_ _forehead,_ _and_ _the_ _back_ _of_ _her_ _head_ _exploded._ _She_ _collapsed_ _to_ _the_ _ground,_ _dead,_ _leaving_ _him_ _utterly_ _shaken_ _as_ _pain_ _and_ _shock_ _and grief flooded_ _through_ _him._

It was so like the way Shannon had died that he felt himself shaking in fact as well as memory. His head was suddenly pounding, as if something wanted to break loose. The pain that flooded him seemed to spin everything into different shapes, offering half-formed connections he wasn't sure he wanted to reach for.

“And I...” Her words, the way her voice suddenly broke, jerked his attention back to the young woman in front of him. She was still watching him, but now there was pain to equal his in her expression. She held his gaze, even as a tear crept over her cheekbone. “I...I killed Ari.”

The last word broke on a sob, pure grief such as he'd seen in his own eyes in the mirror when Shannon had died. It shook him, and another image broke free in his mind, flashing before him.

 _A_ _young_ _man,_ _slender,_ _dark_ _haired_ _and_ _dark_ _eyed,_ _standing_ _in_ _his_ _basement._ _Holding_ _his_ _rifle,_ _full_ _of_ _arrogance_ _and_ _anger._ _The_ _gun_ _raised_ _to_ _point_ _at_ _him._ _Then_ _there_ _was_ _the_ _cough_ _of_ _another_ _gun,_ _and_ _the_ _young_ _man_ _fell_ _backward,_ _dead,_ _a_ _bullet_ _hole_ _in_ _his_ _forehead._ _He_ _looked_ _up_ _as_ _Ziva_ _came_ _down_ _the_ _steps._ _She_ _nodded_ _an_ _acknowledgment,_ _but_ _said_ _nothing_ _as_ _she_ _moved_ _to_ _stand_ _beside_ _the_ _body._ _There_ _was_ _pain_ _in_ _her_ _eyes._

The image brought with it a whirlwind of knowledge, making him almost stagger with reaction. He shuddered once, then looked at the distraught girl before him.

His hands reached out, one to take her shoulder, one to cup the side of her face so he could meet her gaze. The memory hurt, not just the death, but what he thought he knew. He looked into her eyes. “Your brother. He was your brother.”

“Yes.” The word was barely mumbled in the midst of another sob, and she was crying freely. He felt her nod slightly against his hand.

The confirmation shocked him. He stared at her. “You killed your own brother...to...to save me?”

She nodded again, then did the last thing he would have expected. She reached for him, stepping into his arms, seeking comfort. It shook him even more than the knowledge of what lay between them.

He pulled her to him, embracing her, holding her head against his shoulder as she wept. His mind was spinning. He wanted to turn away, wanted to reject what he had remembered, but...he couldn't.

Ziva had broken her own heart, sacrificed something truly precious, to save the life of the man he was. Gibbs felt his jaw tighten. She hadn't saved him, she'd saved the man he'd been a week ago, before he'd lost fifteen years of his life. The person he was as an NCIS agent, as her mentor, her leader...perhaps they'd even been friends. She'd given up her own brother's life, to save him. And now, she was standing in his hospital room, ripping open the wounds of her heart to try and bring that version of himself back.

He swallowed, his hands tightening around her. He wasn't sure if he meant to comfort her, or anchor himself. He felt as he had lying on the bluff, waiting for his wife's killer to pass. The feeling of standing above a cliff, trying to decide if he would leap into the void and fall, or back away. But he knew what he had chosen then, and it was no different now. But now...it was love, not vengeance. He could ignore the call of duty, the fear of disaster, but not the plea of the young woman in his arms, who had given up so much. He took a deep breath, then closed his eyes and fell into the memories of the past fifteen years.

*****SS*****

Ziva felt his arms tighten around her. Seconds later, she felt him inhale, the deep slow breath of a man preparing to do something difficult. Her own breath froze, then he exhaled, a sound of mingled pain and revelation. She twisted her head around and up to look into his face.

His eyes were closed, his expression tight with strain, lips pressed together. A moment passed, then he let go and opened his eyes, looking down at her.

Ziva felt her breathing falter a second time, looking into those eyes. There was pain in them, and stress, but the shadows of lost time no longer clouded his gaze. He looked a little disoriented, but mixed with it was the strength, determination and ferocity she'd come to know so well. There too was the compassion, and the concern. She swallowed. “Gibbs?”

“Yeah, Ziva?”

The tone was his. She swallowed again, surprise and hope replacing even the pain she felt at remembering her brother's death. “You remember.”

“Yeah.” He nodded. She could tell, from the lines in his face, that it had taken a tremendous toll on him, and likely wasn't over yet. She'd seen recovering victims before, and never one who had come back from so extreme a loss. But he didn't look as if he meant to let it stop him.

She could guess what had put that expression in his eyes. She wanted to let him rest and recover, but there was no time. “Abu Sayev?”

“I know. I remember now.” He didn't elaborate, but he didn't need to.

“Then we must get you to NCIS. I will call the doctor, so he can examine you and release you. And then I will call Tony, and tell him we are coming.” She stopped, waiting for his approval.

“Sounds good.” There was a pause, and then he gestured. “Better get going.”

“Of course.” she turned and started for the door, but his voice stopped her on the threshold.

“Ziva.” She turned to find him still standing there, looking at her. To her surprise, there was just the faintest glimpse of humor in his eyes. He held her gaze for a few moments, then the corner of his mouth turned up the smallest bit, and he spoke softly. “Some clothes'd be nice.”

She smiled back. “Of course. I will get them for you.” They'd probably be hospital scrubs, given the urgency of the moment, but she had no doubt he'd prefer that to the indignity of a hospital gown. It didn't matter that his team had all seen him in that for the past few days, that even Franks had witnessed his state of undress. He wasn't showing up at NCIS in his current state.

She turned and left quickly, before there could be any more words between them. She felt that there was something more to say, but she had no idea what it was. 'Welcome back' felt wrong. 'I'm sorry' felt more appropriate, knowing what she was forcing him to endure and to accept, but she knew he would never consent to hear her apology.

She sighed. She had taken the shadows of lost memory from his eyes. Soon enough, the shadows of pain and exhaustion would replace them. But perhaps, just perhaps, she would find a way to remove those too.

**Author's Note:**

> End of Hiatus Part II. I watched this scene, and there was just so much there, under the surface. Not to mention, she'd know him the least amount of time, and yet she got him back. I felt like there just had to be more to it...


End file.
